Only Soda and Steve
by weirdmixofsodapopanddallas
Summary: The things these two dream up...


_Author's note: Hey guys. This is just a random idea that came to me. This thing'll be a collection of one shots about the crazyass shit Soda and Steve get up to together. Basically, it's a side project for me to post new stuff on when an idea comes to me, so probably not the most regular of updates on this one. Other stories in between and what not. Just... need my occasionally distraction, and I can't think of a better distraction than Sodapop Curtis and Steve Randle._

 **Disclaimer: The Outsiders is not mine. If it was, I would've taken all the actors home with me.**

 ** _Boy, I Was Gonna Catch It_**

STEVE'S POV

It was the summer of '64. Soda was fourteen. I'd just turned fifteen. And we were even more stupid than we are now.

We were hanging out in my room looking at car magazines at first, but then my dad got drunk and came in and started hollering at me.

"What the hell is the matter with you, you good-for-nothing worthless piece of shit?!" he screamed.

I just sat there, silent.

He grabbed me by my shirt, hauled me up, and shoved me up against the wall. "You answer me when I talk to you!"

Soda jumped to his feet, the magazine sliding to the floor. "Hey, asshole! Back off!"

Dad looked back at him for a second before he let go of me and socked Soda in the jaw and then the stomach in quick succession. _**Hard**_.

Soda doubled over with a gasp. Before he could come back fighting, I grabbed his shoulders and steered him out of the room, down the stairs, and out of the house. It wasn't the first time Soda'd gotten in a fight with my old man, but I wasn't gonna let him finish this one.

I really just needed to move my car magazines to a new home in Soda's room. They were the only reason we even spent time at my place. I was sick of dragging Soda home and watching his mother bawl over his broken body. And when I say broken, I mean it literally. Every other time they'd fought, Soda'd gone home with at least one broken bone, usually more like two or three, looking like he'd just got out of a violent gang fight.

We never told Mrs. Curtis what had actually happened. We made up stories about bike crashes and tripping down the stairs. She never believed it, but she never called bullshit either, so we never told her what was really going on.

I was glad about that. I always felt guilty about what happened to Soda, 'cause the way I saw it, Soda wouldn't get hurt if he didn't have to stick up for me. And he wouldn't have to stick up for me if I would just stick up for myself. But I couldn't. For some reason, with my dad, it was like I just froze and he could beat me all he wanted without any resistance. I suck. Dad was right.

I really was a good-for-nothing worthless piece of shit.

By the time we were a few blocks away, Soda'd got his wind back, and he was pissed as hell.

"Why does he think he can just act like that? It's just wrong." he snapped angrily.

I could tell he was so angry that he was about ready to go back and cuss my dad out, maybe throw a few punches. I needed to distract him, fast. I looked around for an idea.

We were outside the convenience store right then, and seeing the shopping carts, I had an epiphany.

"What d'you say we take a couple of these down to the pool and see what kind of hell we can raise?"

Soda grinned crazily. "I got an idea."

We snuck through the little parking lot and over to the carts. If you wanna know the truth, it was actually pretty late at night, almost past Soda's midnight curfew, so it was dark. Nobody could see what we were doing. When we took off with the carts, I think maybe one person saw us, and they didn't care enough to do anything about it.

Once we got to the pool, Soda dragged me and the carts up onto the building next to it.

"Soda, what're we doin'?" I asked. I didn't know exactly what he had planned, but I could see that wild look in his eyes that he gets whenever he has a crazyass idea he's only half thought through.

"Get in your cart." he said, giving me a wide smile. I climbed in and he backed me up from the edge.

"Soda…" I started.

"Don't worry about it, buddy." He patted my shoulder. "I'm gonna push you off and into the pool. Nobody's here 'cause it's so late, so it ain't like we're gonna get caught or land on anybody."

I grinned too. This was gonna be great.

Soda ran for the edge and shoved me off as hard as he could. I landed right in the middle of the pool with a huge splash. I came up cheering. I dragged the cart out of the pool, then climbed back up the side of the building.

"Did you see that?" I screamed, pushing my wet hair back out of my face. "That splash was huge! Get in, it's your turn."

He hopped in. "Don't forget to push me real hard, man. I gotta clear the pool deck."

"I got it, I got it." I waved my hand dismissively. "Just hold on tight."

He grinned and faced front. I raced up to the edge and pushed him off.

Now, see, I told myself that I was stronger than Soda and didn't have to push him as hard as I possibly could to get him in the pool, so when I pushed him off, I held back a bit.

Big mistake.

He didn't quite clear the pool deck. He came so close. He crashed to the pavement right next to the pool. There was a sharp crack and Soda let out a piercing shriek, which was suddenly cut off as he toppled out of the cart and into the deep section of the pool.

'Aw shit.' I thought. 'Please don't let that've been his neck.'

I jumped off into the pool to get him. I was pretty sure he'd broken something, and no matter what it was, it would make it hard to swim. I'd never forgive myself if I drowned my best friend just 'cause I was being an egomaniac.

It took me a couple minutes to find him, what with it being so dark and all, and when I did, he was out like a light. I dragged him up to the surface, threw him up on the cement, and pulled myself out. I knelt down next to him.

His whole face was pale, even his lips, and he wasn't moving. He wasn't breathing.

"Soda?" I said urgently. "Sodapop, wake up!" I shook him. Nothing.

Oh shit. What the hell did I just do?

Knowing he only had one chance, I started doing clumsy cpr. Nobody'd ever shown me how, and looking back, I know I wasn't doing it quite right, but I'd seen enough movies that I figured I could work it out. And I did, 'cause a minute or so later he was lying on his side, coughing and gasping.

I rubbed his back gently. "There ya go, man." I whispered. "Just breathe. You're fine. Just breathe."

That's when I noticed his arm.

Have you ever heard of a compound fracture? Y'know, when the bone stabs through the skin? Yeah, that's what his arm looked like, and blood was going **_everywhere_**.

"Oh man." I whispered quietly to myself. "Oh man, oh man, oh man."

When his breathing was at least working properly again, I got him to his feet. "C'mon, man, we gotta get you to the hospital."

He nodded. It looked like he didn't trust himself to make a noise without whimpering.

I picked the lock on the gate and we headed off down the street, trying to thumb a ride.

Soda was getting paler and paler - and I'd thought he was pale before - as more and more blood dripped onto the cement. You could literally **_see_** the trail of blood. Boy, was I gonna catch it from Mrs. Curtis for banging up her son even more than usual - which was saying something.

Soda finally about passed out on me, and I had to catch him before he fell over. I slung his arm around my shoulders and started half dragging-half carrying him down the street. He was holding his broken arm into his chest, his breathing shallow and his eyes closed.

It wasn't too long after that when a car pulled up beside us. I thought it was probably because a kid pretty much carrying another kid down the street is a lot more pitiful than two boys - greasers at that - walking down the street late at night.

What startled - and terrified me if I'm being honest - was the fact that, when the car door opened, it was Mr. and Mrs. Curtis who were inside it.

"Oh, Sodapop. Oh, my baby." Mrs. Curtis whispered, covering her mouth with her hands.

Mr. Curtis jumped out of the car. He scooped Soda up into his arms, cradling him close to his chest.

"Daddy." Soda muttered.

"Lara, honey, you drive." Mr. Curtis said, getting into the backseat with Soda. "Get us to the hospital. Hurry."

I climbed into the passenger side and we took off. Everybody was tense and silent. Nobody really knew exactly what to say.

That's when I noticed Soda's breathing sounded funny. It was coming out in labored gasps, and when I turned around to look at him, his face looked like a ghost, paler than his white t-shirt.

"Aw, shit, buddy, please tell me I didn't kill ya." I muttered.

Mrs. Curtis, hearing what I said, quickly looked in the rearview mirror at her son. She saw what I saw. She heard what I heard. She went white too, pushing the pedal down a little harder. For once, she didn't tell me to watch my language.

After a couple more minutes, Soda weakly gripped his father's arm with his good hand. "Daddy… I'm scared." he slurred.

His dad started gently stroking his hair. "You're gonna be okay, Pepsi-Cola. Just hang on."

Soda passed out after a little bit, and by the time we got to the hospital, you could barely even see his chest rising and falling. Mr. and Mrs. Curtis were scared to death, I mean it. They both looked about ready to pass out. We hurried into the hospital and the people whisked Soda off and left us sitting on chairs in the waiting room.

After about five minutes of dead silence, Mrs. Curtis turned to me. "Steven Jacob Randle, what happened?"

To my surprise and absolute horror, I burst into tears. I was a tough, fifteen-year-old greaser. I wasn't supposed to cry. Especially not in public.

"I'm so sorry." I sobbed. "It was an accident. It wasn't supposed to happen that way. I didn't mean for it to- I didn't- I didn't mean-" I couldn't keep talking and just buried my face in my hands. Soda might've been dying from blood loss in there for all I knew. What had I done?

I felt a gentle hand on my back. "Oh, Steve, I'm not made at you." Mrs. Curtis said gently. "I just need to understand what happened, honey."

I looked up at her. Mrs. Curtis was like a mother to me. Heaven knows mine hadn't given a damn about me. She'd still be here otherwise. Soda's mom was the only one who treated me this way. I could tell her.

"We stole a couple carts from the convenience store and took em up on the roof of the building next to the pool. Soda got me in one and shoved me off into the pool first, and it worked out fine, but when I tried to give him his turn, he… well, he sorta… missed."

Her hand went over her mouth.

"How come he was all wet, then?" Mr. Curtis asked.

"He fell into the pool. He landed right on the edge."

"But how did he swim with that arm?"

"He didn't. I jumped back in and got him out, but it was so dark, and it took me so long to find him that he about drowned. I had to do cpr to get him breathin' again at all. I don't think I did it right, but I guess it was close enough, 'cause it worked, didn't it?"

"Thank you, Steve."

I didn't feel like I deserved to be thanked.

That was the last thing we talked about before a lady came to tell us that Soda'd lost a lot of blood and it'd been a close run thing, but he'd be alright, and they wanted to keep him overnight to monitor his vitals and make sure he wasn't about to drop dead on us.

Honest truth? Scariest night of my whole damn life.

 ** _I promise some of the other ones'll be a little more lighthearted. But things gotta go wrong sometimes._**

 ** _PLEASE REVIEW! IT MAKES ME MAKE WEIRD SQUEAKY HAPPINESS SOUNDS THAT I DON'T MAKE AT ANY OTHER TIMES, AND THAT'S GOTTA COUNT FOR SOMETHING!_**


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